


Sit Down Warlock

by Chainsaw_Maiden



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, I'm pretty sure Aziraphale's gardener name is Francis, Other, but you know, im doing a multichapter soon i swear, im fucking original, im sorry i died, look Dr. Stein is supposed to look like connie's mom from SU, nicer, pantry snogging, who am i to know???, yup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 23:39:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19733995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chainsaw_Maiden/pseuds/Chainsaw_Maiden
Summary: Warlock looks back on his childhood one more time as he finally stops seeing his therapist, and remembers a... faded detail of his strange upbringing.





	Sit Down Warlock

**Author's Note:**

> Great idea- horrible execution

The year was the one year, many years after the apocalypse-that-had-not-been. Since then, Adam Young had grown up, and eventually over the whole Antichrist thing.

Crowley and Aziraphale lived together now in a upper class cottage in Lower Tadfield. Gabriel gave Earth a rest- and in addition to that God gave both Aziraphale and Crowley ethereal- and occult “untouchability” so the dust can settle until the sun explodes. Greasy Johnson still won prizes for his tropical fish. Everything was fine and dandy. 

The exemption? One Warlock Dowling was the exemption. Warlock had not been served very well by the Ineffable Plan- especially since all of that ineffability bullcrap had been thrown out the window all those years ago. Poor Warlock was sullied by the apocalypse in the same way his ex nanny and gardener were now bored with the rest of their lives- the way that made him want to cause trouble. He did, then he didn’t, then he got his shitty communications degree at a community college, and he finally landed himself an inheritance after his father unintentionally bit the bullet. 

Yes, tragedy struck- his poor mother was both relieved and heartbroken. His life was confusing and exciting again, but now he’s an adult; so what happens? The usual crash and burn scenarios. Crying, giving up, and a pill addiction that landed him in a shrink’s office. 

The first time walking in was interesting. He was still in rehab when he visited Dr. Stein for the first time, and over time Warlock grew accustomed to the quiet voiced doctor, and the light filled office. It became a site associated with the better parts of his life. Such a shame that today was his last visit before he moved to the U.S again, but that was a part of growing up.

Warlock tapped lightly on the door, he waited for a moment before hearing Dr. Stein’s mouse-like voice speak up a tad.

“Come in,” she called. Warlock was satisfied to hear the usual ‘come in’ one last time. Over the years she gently aged- her dark, bobbed hair had a healthy amount of white woven into its waves now. Smile lines were thrown over her face, and her prescription seemed to get thicker. She was the same old Dr. Stein. 

Meanwhile- Warlock had rapidly changed over the years seeing Dr. Stein. He had many phases; an emo phase, he gained a weakness for playing guitar, he was convinced he was a forest spirit, soul cycle, Warlock went blonde  _ multiple  _ times, and meth was a recurring one as well. All of these phases were as short or as long as one may perceive them. Warlock sauntered to his usual seat; which was a wicker ball not meant for sitting directly to the left of where he was supposed to sit on the recliner. 

“So, Mr. Dowling, this will be our last appointment, so I must implore you a couple of question as clockwork asks me to.” Dr. Stein stated, holding a centuries old looking note pad. Warlock sighed, and set his body at ease- his head leaned against the recliner. 

“Shoot Doc,” he says simply to fill the gaps. 

“I ask simply one thing, why are you here, and I beg of you to answer another; what have you not told me?” She folded her hands, and smiled- awaiting a simple response. 

“I started visiting you because my mother is a superficial crooney, my father was an egotistical fire hazard, and because my upbringing is something a human child should not endure,” Warlock stops to breathe, “plus my mum named me Warlock,” he stops again- this time to think instead of breathe. Dr. Stein picks up her notebook. 

He wants to go on the usual spiel, but this is a grandiose and unusual situation. As he attempts to rip out thoughts from the ledger in his head. His face contorts a little.

“Oh did I ever tell you about my caretakers?” Dr. Steins stops writing. She tilted her head, and thinks back to the time the two had shared. She shook her head. 

“I don’t think you have mentioned it Mr. Dowling, can I ask more?” Warlock sighed and ran a hand over his face- sweeping back and running through his feathery hair. He shifted in his seat and leaned back. 

“Yeah, when I was six or so- I had these two caretakers.” Warlock said reluctantly, but suddenly he seemed to remember, “My nanny was a domineering lookin’ woman who wore sunglasses indoors, and our gardener looked like a librarian, and I never had seen the gardener even touch the topiary- let alone actually garden.” He tried to remember their names- but he couldn’t.

“Why are they coming up just now?” She was sat and the edge of her seat now, genuinely invested in this sudden memory. Warlock remained where he sat. 

“Well, the gardener gave me good life lessons and told me about being righteous and fighting in the name of God- but my nanny was quite strange.” Warlock got up and slinked over to the recliner- using it for the first and last time. 

“How so?” 

“Well, my nanny- and I can’t tell if I’m remembering it right- but I think she told me about…” He drifted off “...she told me to ‘crush everything under my feet in the name of the 7 circles’ which was always strange,” Dr. Stein cocked an eyebrow.

“That is quite strange- but look on the bright side; you had influence of good and evil during your early life,” she tapped her pen, curious on why this memory may have been neglected for all this time. “Why would you bring this up now?” 

“Well, they were my pedestals of good and bad actions,” Warlock explained- Dr. Stein interjected. 

“That does hold a certain importance. You said were back there- what changed?” 

Beat.

“I caught them making out in the pantry.” 

Beat.

“Mr. Dowling can you continue on that?”

* * *

Mr. Dowling was six years old when it happened. Nanny Ashtoreth had tucked him in, but the nanny and the gardener met in the pantry to compare notes. That night seemed different, but nobody could place why. The two were still in their respective outfits- well Aziraphale had changed out of his usual look- loosing many gardening supplies attached to his body. 

“So, how has the child been progressing?” asked Aziraphale smiling with hands folded. Crowley smiled, and took out his notepad. 

“It has been going quite well, the little goblin said something about loving all creatures- but I sang him the best lullaby about his father,” Crowley leaned on the cabinet that carried the cans. 

“Crowley dear, have you made it too jarring- you know, humans are pretty offset by occult extremities…” he said nervously- they couldn’t go around fucking up the Antichrist, Crowley leaned over and rested on his elbow, his face dangerously close to the angel’s. 

“Angel, I’m just doing my part- maybe I’m  _ trying  _ to make it jarring,” Crowley donned a cocky smile, meanwhile Aziraphale turned to face Crowley directly. A gentle hand cupped Crowley’s face- and the demon instantly melted. 

“It’s almost like raising our own kid- without the messy days,” Aziraphale reminisced, Crowley nodded, and put his arms around Aziraphale’s waist. Who cared if anyone saw them; they won’t remember, the couple put a little bit of miracle work in the pantry. If anyone enters; they won’t remember. They stayed where they are- still as smitten as they were those many many years ago when they got together, broke up, and got back together. Disco and all. 

“Too bad we’ll have to can it when the tyke ends the world, y’know Alpha Centauri is still an option angel,” Crowley sighed, “I know you won’t have it, you love everything here so much.” Crowley began to sway to imaginary music, Aziraphale following. 

“Let’s not talk about that- how about the disastrous cooking is. What are they feeding this child?" Aziraphale pried- he wasn't ready for this conversation. Crowley understood, but was amused by his food qualms.

"Ah yes! It's all so greasy! But I do like hotdogs," Crowley stated, Aziraphale rolled his eyes. 

"Of course you do- ugh I've never been a fan of meats…" he trailed off, and as if he was just simply looking for something to bide time with- Aziraphale does nothing but lean up on the tips of his toes to give Crowley a little eskimo kiss. A smile cracks on Crowley's face as he leans down and gives Aziraphale a wet kiss. The slobbery kiss elicited laughter from Aziraphale as he stepped back; now with a red stain on his face. 

"Oh dear! At least take the makeup off!" He giggled like a schoolgirl, and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Crowley, being the little devil he always has been- leaned in for another kiss. 

"It's more fun to keep it on, 'innit?" Crowley jeered in a lower growl, he smiled as if they weren't cultivating the apocalypse, and practically headbutted Aziraphale for a proper kiss. The both of them laughing quite a bit now, and as he pushed back- Aziraphale trips over some boxes of various foods and brings Crowley down with him. 

By now Warlock has already awoken. He is hungry for a midnight snack He had already walked down the stairs and by now has noticed the refrigerator no longer had the leftover mashed potatoes- so he decided to get some crisps- or chips from the walk-in pantry. 

By now, Aziraphale and Crowley had gone far past Crowley peppering Aziraphale's face with red lip marks, and more to Crowley  _ smearing  _ lipstick across Aziraphale's lips in a level of snogging that was no longer innocent, and more of the type one would see in an over dramatic softcore. 

Thankfully, Crowley's entire being was the type of thing you'd see in an over dramatic softcore. 

Warlock stood there; flabbergasted, and promptly walked away from the scene- very suddenly not hungry. 

You know how they say that watching someone else eat makes you less hungry? Does it fill that imaginary void in your stomach, or does the messy smack of food suddenly remind one "eww gross I don't want to do that right now!"

Yet, then sudden not hungriness was more so sprouted from two things; 

  1. Gardener Francis told him that he needed to eat his veggies to grow big and strong, and Warlock no longer wanted to grow up and partake in activities like that.
  2. He was having a little bit of a crisis, and some crackers couldn't help him from that. 



As Warlock said his unspoken goodbyes- he walked away. He would've made a scene, but the sight was ever so slightly disgusting and confusing to an extent where little Warlock did not know what was happening, but also understood. Crowley and Aziraphale pried their faces apart to realize that someone HAD remembered now- someone who didn't enter the pantry and just watched his nanny and gardener eat each other's faces. 

"Oh  _ fuck _ ," Crowley crooned- he stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and shook his head as he stood up. Aziraphale pulled on his ear. 

"Watch your profanity, this is the last time I-" Aziraphale began to berate him as he realized what had happened. "Ahem- I believe that oh fuck is the correct response…" 

"Do you think he will remember?"

"Ah we'll be fine," 

* * *

Somewhere in Lower Tadfield; two beings sat down on their balcony sipping on wine. Crowley slammed his fist down on the table, but astonishingly didn't spill any of their drinks. 

"What happened dear?" Aziraphale inquired, Crowley sighed and sank into his seat. 

"Remember Warlock?" 

"Yes, I do quite well!" 

"Remember our night in the pantry?"

Aziraphale giggled and clapped his hands giddily. 

"Yes I do!" 

"He remembered," 

Aziraphale sighed, and took a hearty sip of wine. 

"I assumed he would- we should've been more careful," Aziraphale needled. Crowley shrugged, throwing some of the wine out of his glass. 

"Eh whatever- it's not like we scared him for life." 


End file.
